Mystic Writer

Peeking out to see if there is a real world out there...

Monday, December 13, 2004

Future memories

Not too long ago I was telling TB about a series of hikes I had taken. For three consecutive days I had heard a lonely loon calling down on the south side of the lake where I was hiking. On the fourth day the loon called again, and then from the north side I heard the call returned. I loved the romance of it all, and I was really into the feeling when I was relating this to TB.

TB smiled in that way I love, said something about how sweet that was, and then commented "Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could live near nature, day after day, so you could learn all the animals stories...".

At the conclusion of that sentence I was hit by an overwhelming memory of somewhere I've never been before.

The visual portion of the memory was a home, built into a hillside facing southwest. There were two stories exposed on the side away from the hill, and each of the stories had windows across the entire side of the house.

The upper story had a porch with wood railing. The roof overhung the porch with plants hanging from hooks and a table and chairs. Inside the house on the second story was a living room that stretched the entire length of the room. There was a fireplace set into the west wall and comfortable furniture.

On the north side of the house was a kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. The bedroom had a skylight and a large bed that mostly filled the room.

The lower level was setup as a craft shop. There was a long bench with seating for two, good lighting, a kiln and wheel, and a variety of tools.

Off the patio there were well worn paths on the hillside. I sensed that the center path went down the steep hillside to a creek or lake. To the right was a path that led to an outcropping of rock, and to the left was a sidewalk and stairs that led around the house to the driveway and garage.

I had the overwhelming sense that I walked that creek every day, and that I frequently had a companion that loved it as much as I. I sensed I sat on the outcropping of rock and occasionally wrote, but more often just meditated.

The living room made me think of small gatherings of intimate friends, and everything, especially the bedroom, had this feeling of a happier more complete me than I've ever been, utterly mingled with a familiar other presence.

I wrote a scene staged in this house the way I imagine things to be. Despite the fact that this came to me as a memory, it had the same real feeling that my other visions have had. A part of me believes that this will happen.

Certainly if wishes came true it would.


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